Lady Honor's Debt

by Maggi Andersen

  She withdrew her bundle of notes from her reticule.

  “Now, where did you get your hands on that, I wonder?” Bellwood cocked an eyebrow, a sneer on his lips.

  Leighton’s eyes turned greedy. He tossed in his cards, threw back his chair, and rose. “I’ll play you.”

  Bellwood found them a table, and Honor sat with relief, fearing her legs wouldn’t support her. Handed the deck of cards, she shuffled, drew a card, and passed them to Leighton. When Honor’s cut was the lowest, she shuffled again, then pushed the cards over to Leighton, who cut the pack.

  Honor’s fingers shook as she dealt one card to Leighton and one to herself. A crowd had gathered around the table to watch. “The first to fifteen wins the hand,” a spectator explained to the throng.

  Honor considered her card, a deuce, feeling overheated in the stuffy air. She ordered herself to calm down and dealt Leighton one more card, and then one to herself, a five. She now had seven, and must chance another card if she was to win the hand.

  Leighton motioned for one more, and she dealt them one each. She sucked in a breath. Luck was with her; the next card was an eight, and she now had fifteen. She placed them face up on the table. “What do you wish, sir?”

  Leighton frowned and put down his hand. His last card had tipped him over.

  The next hand they played ended with a draw, and the stake was doubled.

  Leighton proved impetuous, with surprisingly poor judgment. He scowled at her as she won the next, and the next.

  “You are not what you appear are you, my girl,” he said. “I wonder…”

  Aware his eyes were on her, Honor fluttered her fan before her face.

  Then her luck changed. Leighton won three of the next four games. Each time he dealt, she lost. Could Leighton be cheating? She studied his actions. He pulled at his cuff as he drew a card, a gesture he had used more than once.

  She tried to keep her mind on the game but bit her lip in anger as she stared across the table into the face of the man responsible for her father’s death. She had come to revenge her father, and not only was she failing, she was putting more money in Leighton’s pocket. She gripped the cards in her hands, trying to still her trembling fingers.

  She won a hand and, buoyed by success, played on.

  The next hand, she lost. Leighton’s lips twisted in a cynical smile. Was he toying with her? He leaned closer and spoke in an undertone. “You think to outplay me, Honor?”

  “I’m sorry, who, dearie?”

  “I know who you are.”

  She shivered and darted a gaze at him. “You are mistaken.”

  “After I free you of your money, we shall have an interesting conversation,” he said. “Amberwell’s brat has grown up to be a pretty wench, with his lust for gambling.”

  Honor stared at him, and her blood ran cold. She wanted to run away, but if she left now, she’d be in worse straits. How long could her money hold out? As she studied her cards, a ten and two, which meant she must draw again and could lose yet another hand, a thin man pushed his way forward and snarled at Leighton. “You are cheating, you devil!”

  Leighton shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a sore loser, Isherwood!”

  “You’ve cheated this woman, just as you did me!” Isherwood grasped the table and tipped it up.

  With a cry, everyone jumped back as banknotes and coins scattered over the floor.

  “Fool!” Leighton leapt to his feet.

  Bellwood shoved his way through the fascinated crowd, which was now three deep around them. “What goes on here?”

  “He is cheating again,” Isherwood cried. “You wouldn’t listen to me the last time.” He swung around. “Who saw him cheat during that last hand?”

  “I did,” a familiar voice said. Edward appeared as the attendants righted the table. “Give the lady back her money.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Honor read the guarded message in his green eyes. Mortified, she glanced away.

  “I saw him, too.” Another man stepped forward. “It’s when he shuffles. He draws the cards from the bottom of the pack.”

  “I suggest you both leave at once.” Bellwood snapped his fingers, and a hulking lackey appeared at his elbow. “Show the lady and gentleman out.”

  “You’re not going to do anything?” Isherwood cried, his face crimson.

  “You can leave too, Mr. Isherwood,” Bellwood said. “I’ve had enough of you.”

  “What about my money?” Honor asked, gazing into Bellwood’s cold eyes. A waiter was on his knees, picking it up.

  “The bank will extract its percentage,” Bellwood said. “Come back tomorrow and get the rest.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Honor stood outside in the street, transfixed by the sight of Mr. Isherwood yelling at Leighton when Edward joined her. After Leighton poked him in the chest, a scuffle began. They were trading blows when a constable ran from around the corner. “Oiy! What’s this about, then?”

  Edward grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I must return to the ball,” she said, breathless in her attempt to keep up with his long gait as he strode back to Oxford Street. She stared at his set expression, and could muster up little moral outrage. “Why did you come tonight? Did you intend to stop me?”

  “I had considered it,” Edward confessed, “but you were doing so well until the blighter started to cheat.” He waved down a passing hackney and gave directions. He sat back against the leather squabs and regarded her. “How much did you lose?”

  Her lips trembled. “Half.” Tears blurred her vision, and she gulped. “You may now say that you told me so.”

  His green eyes softened. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m in awe of you, Lady Honor.”

  Was he laughing at her? She searched his face. “Even though I’ve been a vengeful fool?”

  “You care deeply, and you’re not afraid to risk everything to right a wrong.”

  She pulled the cheap earrings from her ears with a wince. “You are wrong about me, Edward. I wanted to win the money for myself, too.”

  “You need not worry about your jewels; they are in my office safe.”

  She huffed in a breath. “So I am further in debt to you. And I can’t pay you unless I sell them.”

  “I don’t wish payment, and you are not to sell them,” he said as she shrugged off the mantilla. “Your rubies will look perfect with that gown.” He titled his head. “You look quite breathtaking tonight, Honor.”

  Honor swallowed the lump blocking her throat. “My lord, I sincerely thank you for keeping my jewels. This mad scheme wasn’t just to help my stepfather; it was to buy a small cottage in the country for me and my cat.”

  “I believe your plan to be badly flawed.” Edward’s gaze settled on her mouth, causing warmth to flood through her body. “As soon as we have a quiet moment, I intend to tell you exactly why.”

  She exhaled on a long breath, her heart racing. “After my father lost his money, we moved into a small house. Mama had taken to her bed, and Papa would sit for hours at his desk staring at nothing, with his pistol beside him.” She brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “I grew afraid for him, and when he slept I crept down to his study and hid the gun under the cushions on the sofa. But the maid must have straightened them, for he found it.”

  “Honor!” Edward put an arm around her shoulders and held her against him. “You can’t think you’re to blame,” he said in a gentle tone.

  It felt so good; she closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I did once,” she admitted. “But no more.”

  The hackney drew up outside the Goodridge mansion. Lights blazed from the ballroom windows. “The king is here tonight,” she said breathlessly.

  “That will make an excellent distraction.” He took her arm and led her across the garden to the terrace, and they entered the ballroom through the French windows.

  “Faith is dancing,” Honor said, relieved.

  “We’d best join the dancers, t
oo, and then afterwards…” Edward began.

  “Honor! Get your cape. You are going home.” Lord Baxendale loomed in front of them, looking fit to burst. “Lord Edward. Would you kindly call at my house in Adam’s Row on Monday at two o’clock?”

  “Certainly,” Edward said.

  “Father…”

  “Silence!”

  Lord Baxendale bowed. “Winborne.” Taking Honor’s arm, he led her away through the gaping crowd.

  ****

  For once, Edward allowed his valet full rein to fuss and fidget about his person. He wished to look his best when he confronted Baxendale.

  Bede draped a waistcoat on each arm. “Which of these do you wish to wear, my lord?”

  “The burgundy-and-cream stripe seems fitting, Bede. Cheerful, but not too frivolous.”

  Once dressed in his black tailcoat and cream trousers, he put on his hat and left his rooms, cane in hand, striding out into a warm breeze. Summer was almost upon them. How well Sibella knew him. He was not a man given to impulse. Since Honor had entered his life, however, he had been on his toes, unsure of what would come next. He had to admit the lack of certainty had not been entirely unpleasant. It was even a little exciting. Edward thought again of how stunning Honor had looked in her red gown, her hair soft around her face. How beautiful her brown eyes were without her glasses. She’d been so determined, her teeth had toyed with her full bottom lip as she studied the cards and gamely tried to best Leighton. She had been winning until he’d resorted to cheating.

  Edward had gone to the club with the intention to stop what he saw as folly, and found he wanted to cheer. Standing there, it struck him with force how much he loved this spirited young woman. Life without her seemed a drab picture he refused to consider. With Sibella’s advice ringing in his ears, he wanted to sweep Honor off her feet and declare his love, but decided it best to wait until after they had safely joined the dancers in the ballroom, undetected.

  Baxendale’s rash action had put paid to that.

  There might be a positive aspect to this debacle, however. Surely, after creating a scene at the ballroom, Baxendale would have little recourse but to accept him as his son-in-law. Then it only remained for Honor to agree to marry him. But Edward was not entirely sure of Honor.

  Baxendale’s rented house in Adam’s Row was a modest redbrick dwelling, surprising considering his noble birth, stellar education, and seemingly bright future. What had brought the earl so low? Edward had never asked Honor the reason. A maid answered the door and showed him into the empty study, which was furnished in cream and blue.

  Although Edward had inherited a comfortable income from his father, he lacked a title and estate. He paced the blue-and-gold Oriental rug, thinking of ways to counter any opposition Honor’s stepfather might make to the match. A conciliatory manner would be judicious. He must tread a careful path, supporting Honor while he put his case.

  Baxendale’s strained features were a picture of pained indignation when he came through the door. “Have a seat, my lord.” He gestured to an oxblood leather armchair.

  Edward sat, but Baxendale remained standing before him. Damn the man. Edward tilted his chin to look at him, which placed him a position of supplication. He tapped his fingers on the chair arms, and his anger grew. He was determined not to allow this man to look down on him. Dash it all, his brother Chaloner, the Marquess of Brandreth, dined at the king’s table.

  Baxendale bounced on his toes, his eyes cold. “I would like an explanation for Saturday night’s travesty, my lord.”

  “If you would kindly sit down, sir, I shall give you one.”

  Baxendale took the chair facing Edward. “Please continue.”

  Furious on Honor’s behalf, Edward struggled to be polite. “Lord Baxendale, you have treated your stepdaughter in an appalling fashion. In desperate need of my assistance, she came to my office to consult me.”

  Baxendale’s eyes widened with bewilderment. “For God’s sake, why?”

  Edward lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder what society would make of a father who would marry his daughter to a known pervert.”

  Baxendale narrowed his eyes. “You should watch what you say, Winborne.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Morven. I have since had him investigated. My detective returned from Cornwall with a considerable body of evidence against the duke. Morven is known to have raped a local girl. The magistrate is convinced he has a good case against the duke, who may well have murdered his wife. Because of his noble birth, Morven remains untried. Were you not surprised at his difficulty in finding a bride from amongst respectable families?”

  Baxendale blanched. “My God! These are lies! They must be. Morven wrote me, outraged, accusing you of trying to steal Honor from under his nose in his own house!”

  “That is not true.”

  As if he couldn’t sit still, Baxendale leapt up to stalk the carpet. Whirling, he glared at Edward. “Morven also accuses you of stealing his black page, Bartholomew.”

  “Bartholomew has found a new home.” Edward would not deny it. After questioning the lad, his brother Bart had taken him to his parish in York, where he’d placed him with a suitable family.

  Baxendale narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t refuting the accusation?”

  “You approved of the position that boy was in?”

  With a tug of his cuff, Baxendale glanced away. “Not entirely. But I don’t break the law to right what I see as a wrong.”

  “Better you close your eyes to the evil you find.”

  “Not better—prudent at times, perhaps,” Baxendale said in a milder tone.

  “I can’t agree with you.” Edward folded his arms.

  “We are digressing; you were to explain your actions of Saturday evening.”

  “I gather Lady Honor has told you the whole?” Edward asked, his voice cool.

  “She protected you…said you had nothing to do with her outrageous scheme.”

  “I assisted her when I could,” Edward admitted. “Although I hoped to dissuade her from something I saw as dangerous.”

  “Why take this upon yourself?”

  “Because she needed someone to support her.”

  The flush spread to Baxendale’s ears. “Honor’s behavior has been beyond the pale.”

  “You might consider it thus. Nevertheless, she exhibited great courage to help you.”

  Baxendale eased his shoulders as if they hurt him. “I don’t intend to discuss my relationship with my stepdaughter. You were seen entering the ballroom together after having been absent for most of the evening. There’s been enough scandal attached to this family.”

  “We might have gone unnoticed had you not created a scene.”

  Baxendale narrowed his eyes. “You have yet to state your intentions toward my daughter, my lord.”

  “I shall ask Honor to marry me, but I would prefer for her not to think you have twisted my arm.”

  Baxendale’s mouth twitched. Edward stared, fascinated, as a glint of humor crept into his eyes. “Your purpose is to be applauded, Winborne.”

  “Then may I speak to her?” Edward asked, growing suspicious.

  “Honor has gone to my sister’s home in Northumberland to live.”

  “To live?”

  Baxendale nodded. “After stating that in the unlikely event you made her an offer, I was to refuse you on her behalf.”

  “Damn,” Edward muttered. “Did she say why?”

  “She did not. I shall furnish you with her address. You have my permission to marry her, should she accept you. Honor is a stubborn young woman.” He rose from his chair. “I wish you the best of luck.”

  Edward blinked. “That’s good of you.”

  “I would be delighted to see Honor settled with a decent man, although I know that is hard for you to believe. She has rejected every suitor I’ve found for her, since…well, for some years. But I can see you are an honorable man, my lord.” He held out his hand. “Good day to you.”
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  Edward shook Baxendale’s hand and left the house. He pursed his lips. Baxendale’s about-face surprised him. Perhaps the man wasn’t entirely the bully he’d thought him, but merely a man grappling with financial troubles while raising five daughters. Edward wasn’t entirely convinced, but he would ask Chaloner to invite Baxendale to dinner with a number of his influential friends.

  Best he leave for Northumberland the day after tomorrow, after he handed his libel case over to another solicitor. He supposed his career lay in tatters, but he would remedy that later. All that mattered now was finding Honor and convincing her that her future lay with him.

  As he walked along Oxford Street to make the necessary travel arrangements, he bought a newspaper from a street vendor. He stopped to read the front page. In the early hours of the morning, in a remote location in the wilds of Hampstead Heath, Isherwood had shot and killed Alberic Leighton in a duel.

  With a nod of his head, Edward folded the paper and tucked it under his arm.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Never having married, Aunt Christabel lived in seclusion some miles from the nearest village. When Honor arrived in Northumberland, dusty and travel-weary, her aunt welcomed her with a dry kiss on her cheek and a distracted smile. “I daresay you would like tea, my dear?”

  “Thank you. I am parched,” Honor said gratefully.

  Her aunt rang the bell in the drawing room and then seated herself on an overstuffed chair. Immediately, a marmalade cat jumped onto her lap, and several others prowled from beneath the table and behind the curtains to mill around her chair.

  A young maid with carrot-colored curls and a freckled face came in. “We shall take tea, Fanny.”

  Her mind on her own pet, Misty, languishing in Tunbridge Wells, Honor sank onto the other armchair with an anguished intake of breath. “I hope I am welcome company, Aunt Christabel.”

  “You are, of course. I’m afraid there’s little for a young woman to do here. We only keep horses for the gig. I shop in the village every week.” She brightened. “Perhaps you like reading? I am seldom without a book.”